My Beloved

There was a time in my youth,
When Islam was only a custom.
They said, "Say La Ilaha Illallah,....
And pray, you'll go to Heaven." Ah, how simple, no struggle in this,
Just a word, and simple act.
Thereafter I'm absorbed in this world again,
With my 'assured' place in Paradise intact. But this was not to be my fate
For Allah chose to guide my heart.
I learnt of a man who struggled so hard
When his mission was from the start. The story of someone who had morals,
Spoke gently, kindness he knew.
Never fearing to say what's right,
His conviction in ISLAM was true.
The touch of his hand was as soft as silk
To comfort a crying child.
To mend his clothes or do the chores,
Never complaining, he always smiled.
A living he made with his bare hands,
The same that held his mighty sword.
Valor shone from the edge of his blade. His smell was always of musk,
And cleanliness he kept at his best.
Stark contrast with the heroes of today,
Who stink of beer and sweat. He held the hands of his companions.
Unashamed to play with many children.
So modest, so humble, a perfect example,
That strangers could not recognize him.
His eyes slept little for nights that were precious,
His prayers he treasured much greater.
To pray Tahajjud in the depths of night,
Seeking forgiveness, and nearness to his Creator.
He broke his tooth for me at Uhud,
And bled for me at Ta'if.
He cried for me, tears of concern,
Just so I could have this belief His enemies admired his teachings,
Uniting every religion, every clan.
Till ISLAM came to every corner of the world,
O, but indeed he was only a man To own a house or build his wealth,
Was not his main priority.
To establish ISLAM was more essential,
To bring us under a Higher Authority.
Don't you want him to plea for your case,
When before Allah-The-Judge, you stand?
Don't you wish to be around his fountain,
A burning desire to drink from his hand?